Here On Earth
by tom-marvolo-riddle-mcmxxvi
Summary: Victor is used to feeling like an outsider, but it's somehow more difficult when everyone around you is a complete stranger and the only person who can help is the one who cursed you in the first place. Character study, surrounding the events of 'The Doctor' (episode 2x05).


**Here On Earth**

…

_I can hear my name,  
Blackened by my crime,  
Haunting me and taunting  
As it echoes through all time._

-Frankenstein: A New Musical, "Prelude"

…

This was written after 'The Doctor' and the sneak previews of 'In the Name of the Brother', but before the actual airing of the latter episode. So it probably won't coincide with the canon of the 'In the Name of the Brother' very well. But hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway.

…

Regina turned and practically fell into Whale's arms, tears pouring down her face. He caught her and rubbed her arms automatically in a weak attempt at comfort. She was shaking violently but he couldn't take his eyes from the small, pale boy lying on the bed. It wasn't the first time he'd lost a patient- hell, it wasn't even the first time he'd lost a child. But he couldn't ever remember feeling this… emptiness before, not even the first time, and that had been horrible. There was a pain in his chest, something dull and throbbing that shouldn't be there. He barely knew Henry. Sure he'd seen him around town, everyone had, he was the mayor's kid, always carried a storybook around and said crazy things-but it wasn't like he'd ever really talked to him. So why? Maybe it was just empathy, he thought. Regina's grief getting to him- and Emma Swan's.

Even more bizarre than seeing the cold, impenetrable mayor so utterly broken was seeing Swan, tears streaming down her face and her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She walked over to the bed like someone sleepwalking, then leaned down. He quickly averted his eyes, knowing no one, especially not someone like Swan, wanted to be watched when saying goodbye. He forced himself not to listen when she mumbled something into Henry's hair and dropped a kiss against his forehead.

Just before she pulled away, there was a rushing sound, like wind in a hurricane or raindrops pounding on the pavement. Something blew through his body, making him jolt, his hands releasing Regina automatically. He was filled with a burning heat that scalded his insides, so much that he thought he'd burst. For one insane, surreal moment he thought that he was dying, and then it hit him- struck him down with enough force to make him stumble backward and nearly fall onto a hospital bed.

Regina stepped away from him. "You did it," she whispered, staring at Emma. Whale barely heard. His mind felt like it was stretching, growing to accommodate the new images that are rushing in faster than he could focus on them. The others talked over his head, Henry was saying something, but he felt lightheaded and couldn't focus and he didn't… understand…what…

"You saved me," Henry said, looking at Emma with a mix of adoration and pride. "You broke the curse."

And then Whale remembers.

…

Victor hated this new land almost the minute he set foot in it.

Everything about it was off. The colors were too vibrant, too varying. Everyone's clothing was odd and their personalities even more so. And the magic. Most of all the magic. It was a strange power that seemed to be everywhere, not just in the people who wielded it like a toy to amuse themselves, but in the plants and the small animals who roamed on the ground and in the air and humming through every cell in his body with incredible, destructive power. He felt as though he was suffocating under the force of it.

It wasn't that Victor had never encountered magic before, it _did_ exist back home. But there it was a rare thing, practiced only by the most twisted and desperate of people. It was only ever spoken of in horrified whispers in public. Magic was dark. Magic was sin. Magic was for those who put no value in their own souls, who had nothing left to lose. It was, by definition, immoral- not that Victor had ever put much stock in morality. The laws of nature and science were not governed by silly human concepts of right and wrong.

They could not, however, be broken. All the beauty in life, all there was to know, could be understood through these laws, and magic _was_ dark, magic _was_ filth, because it moved around those laws entirely. It was nothing more than an insult spat in the face of the universe. And more, even more than _that_- all those who practiced it used their gifts to rewrite the universe for their own amusement and selfishness. He knew that there were those who would accuse him of the same thing, but they were wrong, he knew they were wrong. He did what he did not only for himself or for Gerhardt, but for all of mankind. He had _purpose_, and his work had _meaning_. Where was the purpose in Jefferson's unsympathetic amusement with everyone and everything, including Victor's work? Where was the meaning in Rumplestiltskin's endless games that always benefited himself no matter who or what was in play? They were selfish, arrogant, uncomprehending of the power they possessed. The power they possessed… he did not understand it any more than they did, but he knew it was not something to be reckoned with. He would have preferred never to have had to deal in it- but of course, it ended up being what he needed for his work to pay off. It seemed irony was one thing that was universal.

But surely this didn't count, did it? Magic was only the _tool_ he needed, one small piece of the puzzle. It was his knowledge, his gifts, that would make this possible, his research that would bring his brother back, not some mysterious dark art. The thought comforted him a little.

Though, for some reason, it was harder to rationalize the differences between them and him when he looked at the naked hope of the queen's face.

She was a strange woman- very beautiful, certainly, but so young. She tried to act like she was distrustful of him, like she had ever actually considered refusing, but the desperation in her voice, _Can you bring him back?,_ and the misery in her eyes when she looked at that young man's body always gave her away. She was not naïve, not exactly. But there was some sort of… innocence there. Maybe that was the appeal. She had something there, some goodness he'd lost.

Whoever this young man was- she claimed he was her fiancé, but something made him think there was more to the story- she would have given anything to get him back, he knew. It wouldn't have mattered what he had asked of her, what he had suggested. Ultimately, she would have said yes. Even if it took everything she had. Even if she had to give her life for his. If the situation were different, he would have looked at her with pity. But in this case, he felt a sort of kinship with her. _I understand,_ he wanted to say, watching her press her hands against the glass and fight back tears. _I really do understand. I, too, would have and will give it all to see a loved one again. _And most of all, _I'm sorry. _But in the end, when she turned to them, lips trembling but jaw held high and said "I know where we can get a heart," he just forced a smile.

His sympathy wasn't going to stop him from going through with this. He had worked too hard, had too much to lose to waste what may be his only chance to get the heart he needed. But he _was_ sorry. It was a shame she'd never know it.

…

_Where is Regina?_ He wanted to ask. _Why are you protecting her?_

_Who are you? All of you? I recognize a few, others I can guess, but all the rest are strangers to me... _

_How can we return home? Can my land even be reached?_

_Honestly, why did you stop me from wrapping my hands around Regina's throat? _

_Do you know me? Do you know who I am? I don't know you, not really- can you help me?_

But when he shoved his way through the crowd to David/Prince Charming/whatever he wanted to be called now, the words somehow get mixed up in his throat. Maybe it was because he was still scared and confused, like everyone else. Maybe it's because, just like David says later, he really _is_ both, and the womanizing Dr. Whale got control of his mouth for a brief second. Or maybe it's because of the dulled anger and annoyance in David's eyes, because he thinks he already knows what Victor wants and has already written him off, already having forgotten that they were different, weaker people under this curse and they've changed now. Maybe it's a combination of everything. But the why doesn't matter, because the fact is that Victor grabbed David's arm, looked him in the eye, and the idiotic, infuriating words that came tumbling out of his mouth were, "Are the nuns still nuns, or can they, you know, date?"

…

It would have been easier to just take the heart to begin with, but no, Rumplestiltskin wanted a show. _"Make her believe it," _he had said. _"Give her hope that she may see her love again, then rip it away. Break her heart."_ So he had to go through with this nonsense- turning on his machines though he would not use them, taking the heart back out, hiding his shudders as it pulsed in his fingers, still soft and warm. Thunder crashed in the background and he looked down at the young man's- _Daniel, his name was Daniel- _face and sucked in a breath. He looked like he was only asleep, without a mark on his skin, his body not even stiff in death. What would he have thought of all this? Did he too want to see his love again, or had he already moved on, finding peace somewhere beyond this world? Victor opened the man's jacket one-handed. He had not bothered to cut him open- it was unlikely the queen would notice, and it would take time he didn't have- and so waited, heart glowing like a small lantern in his hand, for the next lightning flash. His machines hummed away uselessly in the background, and he shifted restlessly in anticipation. At last he saw it, felt it rather, electricity thrumming along his skin and making his teeth vibrate- and brought the hand with the heart down on Daniel's chest. He slipped the heart easily up his sleeve, beating against his wrist out of time with his pulse, as the thunder crashed around him. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. It was over, almost comically easily. Now to tell her highness. Just tell her and he could go home. He could see his brother. He straightened, and, shielded by the table, dropped the heart into his bag.

The queen was smiling nearly ear to ear, and at the sight of it he almost tripped coming out of the tent. However, as he got closer he could see that her hands were shaking, and her grin wavered. The light left her eyes, and she knew, he could see in her face that she knew, before he even opened his mouth. "I'm sorry," he said. "I… failed." The words were easy, rehearsed a thousand times, but he was shocked to feel burning behind his eyes. "The heart wasn't strong enough-" He faltered and had to stop. She stared at him blankly, disbelief warring with pain. She wanted him to say something else, he knew. Wanted to say that he could try again, that he'd made a mistake. But he was silent, and after a long moment, she nodded and walked up to her fiancé's corpse without having said a word.

After the tent flap closed behind her, Jefferson grinned openly and slapped him on the back, saying something about "Well done" and "I almost believed it myself". Victor stared at the sky, lightning branching across it and looking like veins, and thought of his brother again. It helped a little.

Regina eventually emerged, her face streaked with tears but composed. "Thank you," she said to Victor, her tone flat. "Thank you for trying." There is a long pause during which no one knows what to say. Then Jefferson loudly cleared his throat. "Well, your highness, I had better go get your men, to transport the body." No one answered him and he nodded to himself. "Right." He strode off.

Victor moved to go collect his things from the tent but as he passed Regina she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Will you ever attempt it again?" Her voice was so soft for a moment he did not realize that she had spoken.

"I do not know. If even the magical hearts from this realm are not strong enough, I don't believe anything is. I will search, but…" He trailed off, watching her. She really was a lovely girl, even with red-rimmed eyes. If he had met her under different circumstances…

"But you'll keep trying." It was not a question.

"Yes. I have to."

"Why?"

There are several things he could tell her, all of them true. But he tells her the only one she can understand. "For the same reason you had me brought here."

She blinks in surprise, for a moment her own grief fading. "You've lost someone too?" He nodded. Her eyes widened, then drop back to the ground. "…I see. I'm sorry."

"Do not be."

"But I am," she sighed, and then smiled at him. If her smile seemed a little weak, he did not comment on it. "I wish you luck. I hope that one day… you can see them again. There's nothing worse than losing the ones you love."

He did not trust himself to speak.

With that she followed after Jefferson, shoulders bowed, and he watched her go. What was this he felt now, he wondered. Surprise? More sympathy? Plain, simple guilt? Whatever it was, he was incredibly glad then that he would never return to this world. Whether it was the magic or the colors or the people, something about the place frightened and awed him. So, while it was hard to tell Regina the first time or any time since, it was easy now to watch her stride away from him, knowing that he would never see her again, would never have to see the results of the misery that was tearing her apart. Or worse- to see what would happen were she to learn that she was fooled.

…

Twenty-eight years. He could barely believe it. It was bad enough that he'd been stuck with a false identify, wasting the years acting as Regina's lackey, with not the faintest idea that anything was wrong- but to be trapped away from his home, among people who were strangers with or without the curse, with no idea how _his_ land had been affected; that was the real horror. All these people were angry, almost blind in their fury- but how much had _they_ really lost? When he walked around town, he could see reunions happening all around him, friends and family rejoicing in their freedom. Though there were some still missing, most everyone still had someone to turn to. They were united.

And Victor was left the odd man out. People stared at him openly wherever he went, the silent question in their eyes. David was the only one who had the guts to just ask him: _"Who are you, Whale?" _They didn't know if he was a friend or an enemy. He hadn't been very well liked around town before the curse was broken, and all anyone knew about him now was that he would have willingly killed Regina in front of crowd of onlookers. No one approached him, and he didn't try to ask anyone for help. What would he even say? His story would not be the strangest one- there was some mechanic wandering around claiming be Cinderella's pet mouse for god's sake, and no one was giving _him_ weird looks- but Victor knew that no one could help him. No one but Regina.

David believed that their world still existed, and while they were hardly friends (particularly after that punch to the jaw for something that _wasn't his fault_), Victor would trust him before Regina any day. Whatever sympathy he may have once felt for her was obliterated by the twenty-eight years he'd spent under her thumb. God help him, twenty-eight _years_. He had no idea what that translated to in his land. Had he left Gerhardt yesterday, or a hundred years ago? He believed him to be in a safe place, but anything could have happened while he was gone. Gerhardt's body may have rotted by now. And the people he knew, what had become of them? Were they safe? Had they looked for him? He had always been a bit of a recluse, but surely someone had noticed. What became of _this_ town didn't matter much to him. He just needed to get home.

But then what was he to do? He hadn't had much of a plan barging in on Regina in the therapist's office. He had meant to frighten her, perhaps, towering over her to try to remind her that he could and would have strangled her that day, and accepted whatever consequences there may have been. And, if it came to it, he wasn't above killing her. But rather than being scared she had all but laughed in his face, brushing off his demands with a shrug of her shoulders. "I can't send anyone anywhere," she said, almost _smirking_ at him. If Archie hadn't thrown him out, he might have hit her right then. But then again, it was probably better that he hadn't, now that her magic had returned.

So forcing her wasn't an option, even assuming that with David and Archie watching him he would be able to get near her again. He could blackmail her, or bargain with her, but he had nothing to offer. Maybe Mr. Gold- no, no, it was Rumplestiltskin, no matter what he chose to call himself, everyone knew who he really was- could have helped him there, but he'd never deal with that man again if he could help it. Perhaps he should just wait for David to make a breakthrough on the hat; unlikely without Jefferson's help. Victor had seen him a few days before in the street, looking uncharacteristically weak and miserable. Apparently the years had been particularly hard on him. Victor would have sought him out himself if he thought he could do anything, but Jefferson was only slightly less a stranger than him than everyone else.

The situation was beginning to seem hopeless. Victor couldn't just sit around and wait for something to change. Regina had a way out of this, he _knew_ it. He just needed options.

Finally the answer came to him, so obvious he had no idea how he hadn't thought of it before.

…

When it had started, it was a side-project, less than that really, more an old game from his childhood; _what if_, just _what if_ he really tried it and it worked? What if he could unravel the mystery that had beaten philosophers, alchemists and scientists alike for centuries? Such a discovery would be incredible, the greatest achievement humanity had ever witnessed- the creation of life, reanimation of the dead, all through man's own ingenuity and hard work…

But it was a game. Something he had wondered about, fanaticized rather, as a young boy, but that he had long since thrown off. Speculation and dreaming were for the foolish, not for those who were true students of the laws of nature. One wanted glory, the other wanted knowledge. One was honorable and worked for the good of all; the other was selfish and worked only for themselves. Which path he ought to pursue was clear. However, there were days when he'd go through his old notes, remember his old passion, and think to himself _'what if?'_. But ultimately he'd put it back away. There were more plausible, valuable pursuits that demanded his time.

All that changed the day their mother died.

It had been sudden, an outbreak of illness after she and their father had gone abroad for a few weeks to visit an old friend. He had come back as well as ever, but within a day she was coughing. In another five she was confided to bed, unconscious most of the time and so feverish her skin was as hot as live coals. The doctor had rushed about, giving her various shots and pills, and Father had sat by her bedside every night and day, watching her toss and turn restlessly in her sleep and weeping. Victor and Gerhardt had not been allowed into the room, and so watched the disease take its course from the doorway. Victor was eighteen then, and Gerhardt thirteen.

Finally, after a few more days of suffering, she died. Towards the end she had become more awake and lucid, and asked to see her boys. She had smiled at them both through red, inflamed cheeks and held their hands as she gave them her last words. She told Gerhardt to be brave, to be strong, and that she knew he would be a great man someday, a hero. What she said to Victor, he had no idea. He had barely been listening, focusing instead on the way her eyes were darkening, her breath slowing. She was slipping further and further away every second and he clutched her hand so tightly he thought he might be hurting her, trying to hold her there.

He remembered the moment when she was gone at last, when her hand went limp in his and her blue, clouded eyes slipped shut. He could not remember what happened after. He was told later that at the moment the doctor pronounced her dead, he had become hysterical, knocking things over and cursing the doctor, his father, Gerhardt, himself, god. Gerhardt had had to drag him out of the room to console him.

Then, it became an obsession. It hadn't immediately occurred to him, not until months after the fact, not until the day when, while cleaning up his chambers, he'd stumbled across some old notes on the power of electricity, and more specifically- how it could affect the human heart. And that old mantra began in his head again, _what if I did it? What if I tried? _And it occurred to him- that he _could_. He could do it. Who was there to stop him? Should he fear god, who had taken his mother from him? Should he fear humanity, who spent every second of their measly, insignificant little lives running as fast as they could from death themselves?

It had always been a given that he would become a scientist, and he left on cue for Ingolstadt to study biology and chemistry when he was twenty. He couldn't say he really enjoyed his time there- it was too different from home to be comfortable and his peers and teachers were a bit… unimaginative, in his opinion, and unappreciative of the power of the sciences they practiced. But he learned things there he could never have learned from books; for example, what the human brain felt like in your hands, or what incisions were required to remove the heart from the chest. It was time well spent, and he returned home, barely containing his eagerness to begin.

His father, unfortunately, proved uncooperative. "I funded your schooling, and if you needed money to open a medical practice, of course I'd be perfectly willing to help you," he had said, on Victor's first day back, as the three of them greeted each other in his study. He had pipe sticking out of his mouth, unlit, and his words slurred together as he tried to speak around it. "But this I'm not so sure about. I mean, these 'experiments', as you call them, sound suspicious. What exactly are you trying to do?"

Victor was struggling to think of an answer when Gerhardt jumped in. He was twenty-one now, a man grown to be taller than Victor and with all the athleticism his brother had never had, but his admiring, hero-worship sort of love for Victor hadn't faded with the years. "Oh come on, father," he said. "What kind of family would we be if we didn't support our resident geniuses?" He grabbed Victor's shoulder and shook him slightly. "Don't let him get to you, brother. He's just sour that you won't be sticking around longer." He laughed good-naturedly and their father joined in, though the latter's seemed humorless.

In the end, he agreed to give Victor all the money he needed, and even to allow him the use of their summer home for his work. Relieved, Victor allowed Gerhardt to lead him away, making excuses, into the library. The room was Victor's favorite in the house, a bit small but with long almost floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on every wall and warm, pale light flooding in from the high windows. He took a seat in an armchair, crossing one leg over the other and sighing with relief. "Thank you for that."

Gerhardt dropped into the seat across from him. "It's no trouble. You know he doesn't really care what you're doing; he just enjoys making a fuss. Speaking of which, I don't suppose you'd mind telling _me_ what these experiments of yours are all about?" He leaned back, trying and failing to look nonchalant.

"Some other time, maybe," Victor replied. "How are you? The last time you wrote me was months ago."

"I'm all right. Things are a bit slow around here. Elizabeth has been asking after you- remember her? Moved into town a few years back with her father, a bit younger than me. She's a nice girl, you should say hello while you're here."

Victor raised his eyebrows. "Playing matchmaker, are we? You sound like mother. I'll say hello if I see her, but like I said, I don't think I'll be here for long. If father was serious about letting me use the summer home, I'd like to get down there as quickly as possible to set up." He thought a bit nervously about the materials he had in his trunk up the stairs, 'borrowed' from the university. "I've got a few things I don't want… rotting."

"In that case, I'll just pass on your regards." There was a comfortable pause. "Oh, I've been meaning to tell you. I've decided to enlist in the military."

Victor's hands jerked involuntarily in his lap. "What? Just like that?"

"Why not? I'm the proper age, aren't I?"

"But you haven't had any schooling. Don't you think you should wait and see if there's anything else that might interest you? Something… less dangerous?"

"Like what?" He suddenly looked annoyed. "I don't know if you've noticed, Victor, but we aren't all prodigies. I can do simple math, and I'm healthy I suppose, but besides that, I haven't got much going for me."

"Don't say that."

He spread his arms. "Why not? It's the truth. …Now, don't give me that look, I'm not doing this because I'm giving up on myself. I _want_ to join, believe it or not." He smiled faintly, looking for a moment much older than he was. The illusion was destroyed when he reached up to nervously run his fingers through blond hair. "Mother told me to be brave, and I've always tried to do just that. What's braver than fighting for my country?"

Victor stared at him, dismayed. "You're really set on this, aren't you?"

"I am. I'm serious about this. I'm never going to be a genius, and there's not much that motivates me either. I want to be useful, at least."

Victor smiled wryly. "You're getting far too earnest for your own good, Gerhardt. Just watch, you'll end up a war hero by accident, and then I'll never be able to show you up again." Gerhardt rolled his eyes and Victor's smile dropped away. "Just be careful, alright? Don't do anything foolish out there."

Gerhardt sat up, reaching across the space to clasp his shoulder again, affectionately. "I will. You shouldn't worry so much; it's not as if we're at war."

The dinner bell rang and they both jumped. "Go on," Victor said. "I'll be up in a minute. I just need to go up to my room."

"What for? You look fine, there's no need to change. We don't have any guests."

"It's not that, it's just some, ah, equipment I brought over. I want to make sure it wasn't damaged in the trip." He rose from his seat, wiping some dust off his sleeve. Apparently no one had been in the room for some time, maybe not at all since he'd left. The thought made him depressed.

"Are you sure you can't give me a clue as to what it is you're working on?" Gerhardt called after him.

He paused at the door. He still wasn't sure how he felt about revealing the nature of his work so early in the process… but if he couldn't trust Gerhardt, who could he trust? "Have you ever heard of galvanism?"

Gerhardt shook his head.

He glanced back towards the hall. "Do you suppose father will be angry if we're late for dinner?"

The corner of Gerhardt's mouth twitched up. "Undoubtedly. "

He closed the door again. "In that case, what do you know about electricity?"

…...

"You know, if you don't buy something I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Whale jumped and looked up at Ruby, staring pointedly down at him. "Yeah, I saw you hiding back here. I've got other customers waiting for a seat, if you're going to hog the booth you might as well pay."

He flicked his eyes around the diner. It was practically empty, a couple of the dwarves sitting at the bar covered in dirt from the mines and Marco sitting at a table reading. Ruby scowled down at him, lip-sticked mouth a hard line. She and David had one thing in common. Neither of them would accept "I was cursed" as an apology. Whale bit his lip and said quietly "I'll have a coffee, thanks," and looked back down at the map he'd swiped from town hall, sighing to himself. Ruby raised an eyebrow but walked away without a word.

It was a long shot, what he was trying to do, but he didn't have much to lose at this point. It did seem like something Regina would do. Her grief over her dead fiancé had been very real, and she hadn't ever entirely gotten over it. Victor's presence alone was proof enough of that. And there was no doubt in his mind that she had brought hearts over. She would have kept every possible weapon at her disposal nearby, and she had become an accomplished sorceress since they'd last met. The real question was; where was she hiding them?

It would have to be somewhere only she could have access to. Somewhere well-protected so that Henry wouldn't stumble onto it by accident and somewhere not so obvious that Emma Swan would have thought to check it out. So, probably not anywhere in town, not even the mayor's office. Her house was also unlikely…though he couldn't rule it out completely, he reasoned, marking it with a black x on the map. As a former queen, she would know how to turn a house into a fortress, and how to keep her secrets hidden. The woods were another possibility, but he'd rather have some idea of where to look then just wander around until he found something. Besides, now that the curse had been broken, the woods didn't seem as safe anymore. People were constantly wandering in and out of it, and oftentimes you could hear wolf howls at night. All the same, he wrote a giant x over the entire area. Now, where else? What did he know about Regina… perhaps the hospital basement?

"What's that for?" Ruby asked, leaning over his shoulder curiously.

He jumped and guiltily covered it with his hand. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

She gave him a sharp look, and placing his coffee in front of him, leaned forward just a bit to whisper in his ear menacingly. "Look," she hissed, "I don't really care who you are or where you're from, but this town has enough problems right now without you making trouble. So-"

"It's a map."

"What?"

"It's a _map_," he said irritably, waving it in her face. "It's a goddamn map. I'm looking for something important, and I don't know where it is. I was trying to pick likely spots." He slammed it back down on the table.

She blinked in surprise, and then glared. "What are you looking for?"

He hesitated. "Something of mine. Regina stole it from me," he said. That wasn't quite a lie, was it? "I don't know where she would have put it- she wouldn't have wanted anyone else to find it." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Any brilliant ideas?"

She leaned over him again, and he shifted away instinctively. It was odd- he was still attracted too her, certainly, but it felt fainter than it used to. Not gone, but less… distracting, maybe.

"Not the woods, everybody goes in there. And… yeah, you've her place marked…" she glanced at him. "Do you have something related to this thing, or a sample from it? Because you know, if you wanted, I could…" she gestured vaguely in the direction of his nose.

"You'd do that?"

She shrugged. "Hey, if it gets you out of here…"

It was a joke, intended to break the ice, and he forced a weak chuckle before shaking his head. She sighed.

"Well, you've already got the obvious places marked, so why not the cemetery?"

He frowned. "The cemetery?"

"Sure. Regina had- has- a family plot there, and she's still visiting it every Wednesday as far as I know. You could check it out." She shrugged again.

"She's got family? I mean, everybody's got family, but…" He trailed off.

"Dunno. It could all just be for show, if there's really something hidden there…"

A graveyard. It would sort of poetic, for her to be keeping Daniel's body there. If nothing else, it was the best idea he'd heard so far. He stood up, dropping a dollar bill on the table.

Ruby jumped out of his way in surprise. "Hey, what's your rush? Where are you going?"

"I have to go. Thank you, Ruby. Really. I mean it." He smiled at her charmingly, and though she rolled her eyes in response, her reply of "you're welcome" at least sounded a little friendlier than it had before. One down, an entire town to go.

He drove to the cemetery- graveyard, as he had always preferred calling them in his head, it seemed more honest- immediately. It was getting late and the last thing he needed was to get caught poking around _now_. He heard howling in the distance and increased his pace as he climbed the steps of the little stone building that held Regina's possibly-fictional deceased relatives, pulling the door shut behind him with some difficulty.

It was smaller than he'd expected, and empty, except for a coffin. His heart raced with excitement before he remembered that this was Regina he was talking about- there had to be more to it. He circled it, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them clean from the dust. It was unnecessarily huge, and Henry was carved into the side- Henry who? She couldn't mean her son. Was this some kind of jab at Swan? He reached out with one hand and shoved on the lid. It groaned painfully as stone scraped against stone, but didn't move more than a few millimeters. Sighing, he braced his leg against the side of it for support, put his hands on the lid to push and leaned- it budged. Not the lid, the bottom, and he stumbled as his heel almost dropped into the opening. He let go, stared at the clear indentation of stairs dug into the ground. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. Was it _really_ that simple?

It took a few minutes of shoving and grunting but he managed to move it aside and climbed down the stairs to a large room. It bore little remembrance to the one Regina had taken him down to twenty-eight years before, looking more like some kind of bank vault than a cavern. But sure enough, after trying a few of the many gold-hued metal slots in the wall to find them to be locked, another he yanked open easily to find a heart, crystallized and pulsing faintly pink. He pulled it out, aware that his jaw was hanging slightly open, both repulsed and enthralled. He tore the sleeve on his shirt and wrapped the heart in it, hiding it in his jacket. He then crossed over to the only other area in the room, an outcropping to the left. He stepped into the light, and found Daniel's body, lying in his glass coffin unchanged from the many years that had passed, and as he had been- perfect. Serene, as though he was asleep. And utterly unprotected.

It had no wards or barriers around it that he could see, and this vault had been laughably easy to get into. Was there some kind of trick, a booby trap inlaid for him? It didn't seem like it. He was able to open the coffin and touch Daniel without any problem, grazing the cool (but still not stiff) skin of his hand. But surely, surely there must be something. He'd heard rumors, but Regina couldn't be slipping this much.

There was no point in hanging around deliberating, not when every second spent down there made him feel more endangered. The hardest part was getting Daniel's body to the car. After several failed attempts, he ended up half-dragging the man along the ground, unable to carry him on his own. He lifted him up so that only his legs were scraping the ground, up the stairs and into the graveyard again, getting grass stains on the corpse's clothes but doing no other damage that he could see. It took five; maybe ten minutes for him to cross the graveyard, glancing around him nervously, and thinking back with an odd sense of nostalgia to many nights spend similarly back in his own land, though at least then he'd had a wheelbarrow and Gerhardt and later, Fritz, to cover for him.

He hosted the body into the backseat, tossed a few spare coats and scrubs over it, and drove at breakneck speed back into town. He wasn't stopped, so David must have been busy elsewhere or otherwise not paying attention. Whatever it was, he counted his blessings as he pulled in behind the hospital near the basement entrance, hiding himself in the shadows. It wouldn't do any good if someone was really set on finding him, but the act was comforting at least.

…..

The door flew open with a bang and Victor stormed down to the end of the hall, fuming. Behind him he could hear Gerhardt say something harshly to their father, a reprimand maybe, and then his quiet, steady footsteps trailing after him. Victor glanced at him and saw that he still held the box containing their mother's watch in his hand, and something in his chest clenched.

"Victor, he-"

"A commission? A goddamn commission?" He crumbled the paper in his hands and shoved it roughly into the pocket of his coat, though he'd have rather thrown it in the fire.

"I'm sure he thought he was doing the right thing for you." Gerhardt's tone was half-hearted at best.

"Don't patronize me! You know damn well why he's doing this. He thinks I mad. He just doesn't want me _wasting_ his money, that stupid, simple old _fool_-"

"Someone's going to hear you."

Victor whirled on him. "If you think I care what those nosy, presumptuous little housemaids think-"

"Victor, I'm on your side. There's no need to shout at _me_."

He broke off and felt guilt creep in. "You're right. I'm sorry." He ran a hand over his face. "I just… Damn him. Damn him to hell."

Gerhardt watched him helplessly. "May I see it? I didn't get a chance to really look…"

Victor yanked it back out of the coat, tearing one of the corners a little as he thrust it at him. "You're welcome to it." Unable to keep still, he began pacing, back and forth. His mind was racing, searching frantically for some kind of solution.

There was a long silence, unbroken except for the occasional intake of breath by Gerhardt. After the third time, Victor spared a glance at him and paused. His brother had folded the paper in his hands and was staring at his shoes, looking stricken. "Gerhardt?"

"Victor…what will happen, if you accept this?"

He couldn't hold back a sneer. "Nothing. Nothing will happen. I'll go, and I'll do my job, or I'll get killed, either one, it makes no difference. My experiments will be put off for another ten, twenty years, all the research I'm running now lost. And that's thinking optimistically."

Gerhardt handed the page back to him. "What can we do?"

"Aren't you listening? Nothing. He's ruined me, and glad for it."

"Victor, you've been working on this for five years. Isn't there something you could salvage? Why is it taking this long to begin with?"

"I don't have the proper body. I can't…" He sighed at Gerhardt's blank look. "It's complicated, I'm afraid. To put it simply, I can't work with a full body, it makes modifying it difficult. I have to add pieces onto it. But I need to have a… base of some sort. Something stable. I can't get that robbing graves. Only the most perfectly embalmed body… if I had a fresh one, I could do it properly."

"Why don't you?"

"Are you mad? I can't go around stealing fresh bodies, someone would notice. I'm already running a risk taking _parts_ of bodies that have been dead and buried for years. No one would volunteer, and even if they would… I can't. You're the only one I've told. I can't trust anyone else until this is all over." Gerhardt nodded, still looking troubled. In a way, it made him feel better. "You don't have to worry about it. It doesn't affect you."

"Yes, it does." Gerhardt said sharply. "Of course it does."

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

Gerhardt gave him such a hard look he involuntarily took a step back. "I served for seven years, Victor. And you know what I've learned in all that time? How little I matter. I won a metal, sure. I came home in one piece, sure. But it's not because of ingenuity, or bravery. It was dumb luck. It could have been someone else's son who got the silver cross, and me shot and left to die, easily. An accident of life."

"Gerhardt-"

"I fought and killed, and you know what? It didn't mean a damn thing. Destruction of life… it didn't mean a damn thing. There's no honor in that." He thrust the paper back at Victor fervently. "But what you're doing… it's incredible. Amazing. If you succeed… when you succeed… I want to see it happen. I want to be a part of it. If I can only do one great thing in my life, I want it to be this. If you manage to do this now, show father what you've accomplished, and then he'll have to admit that it's worthwhile! He'd never dare to send you off after what you'd have done… If you could just do it in time, let me help you…" His voice had become desperate; a fact he seemed to realize as he abruptly stopped speaking.

"I understand. Believe me, I do," he said. So his brother shared his madness after all. Why did that worry him_? _"And I wish you could. But I just don't see any way from here."

"That's just it. I think I might." Gerhardt took a breath, and then straightened. Victor could see more than a bit of the soldier he was in his eyes. "Victor. Are you absolutely confident that you can do this?"

"That I can-?"

"If you had all the proper variables in place, the perfect…" he took in a shallow breath, "body, the perfect materials, conditions, everything… are you absolutely confident that you could restore life to a dead body?"

He answered without hesitation. "Yes. I believe I can."

"Then why don't you just take what you need?" Gerhardt asked quietly.

There was a pause, broken by a single distant thunderclap in the distance.

"Are you suggesting that I commit murder?" His voice came out a bit strangled.

"It's not murder if you bring them back afterwards. Nothing will have changed; you'd have proved your point."

"Gerhardt, even if I can bring a body back to life, I have no idea if that person's soul would come back with it! It could be them, or an empty shell, or a new person entirely. This is all experimental at this point, which is one of the reasons why I'm building a new body. I _think_ that I might be able to bring someone back, memories, soul and all, but I can't be sure. What if I go through with this and I still end up a murderer? I don't want to go to prison."

"You won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I have faith in you," Gerhardt said, with such genuine honestly it hurt Victor to hear it. "This will work. You won't fail."

"_Faith_," Victor said scathingly, "won't guarantee results. Regardless of the fact I'd be running a terrible risk, I haven't got the right to deprive someone of life unless I'm completely sure I can return them to it again. And like I said, there is no one who would be willing. No one who can be trusted, at that."

"So you'll just give up," Gerhardt said with disbelief. The disappointment in his voice stung.

"No. I'll think of a solution. But taking a body from a living person by force… the consequences for that are not ones either of us are prepared to pay, brother. Please, just trust me."

Gerhardt had clearly wanted to argue further, but acquiesced for once and quickly excused himself. Victor watched him go, shocked and worried but, also, though he didn't want to admit it, intrigued. For all his protestations, Gerhardt's idea did make a certain kind of sense. If there was someone who was willing… someone who would let him… as a matter of in fact-

That was a train a thought that needed to be stopped immediately.

He had been invited to spend the night, but headed back to his laboratory after a brief and tense goodbye to his father. He was frightened of what he might do if he allowed himself to stay. He was frightened, too, of the fact that he was beginning to think that sometime in the last few years, when he wasn't sure, his morals had deserted him entirely.

…..

The lights flickered and flashed in a bizarre imitation of lightning over his head, but he knew outside it must be morning by now. Spots danced behind his eyes like cigarette burns, but he tried to keep them closed, rather than look at the smashed lights, the overturned knives and trays, the blood smeared all over his side and the thin cot he had collapsed on. He had wanted to move, earlier, to crawl to the door one-handed and shout for help, but as soon as he had shifted the pain had increased until he could barely breathe and he had fallen back, unable to muster the energy to even twitch. Even now he was having trouble forming a coherent thought.

It had worked, but he had never doubted that it would. One of the few benefits of this world was its advanced technology; using the hospital generator was more than enough of a power source. His real mistake had been turning his back. After that disastrous failure with Gerhardt, he should have known better. But then, Gerhardt had never tried to hurt _him_, and certainly wasn't capable of such strength as Daniel had had after his 'birth'. He had never expected him to be so strong, as to be able to overpower him and-

He couldn't think about it. He was agonizingly conscious of the absence on his side, and had to force himself not to look, not to think about the pain or to wonder where the rest of his arm was, and most importantly, not to panic. He had to empty his mind, think about nothing, and try to concentrate on not going into shock. It had taken everything he had to muster up the sense and energy to bandage his arm. It was crude, but better than nothing.

Apparently he was stronger than he had thought, too.

Daniel hadn't been able to speak, or maybe he just hadn't wanted to. That was another difference between him and Gerhardt. He wondered, if he were to die now, and assuming there was an afterlife, would he see Gerhardt there? Or was his soul permanently bound to his body now, after Victor's first attempt to bring him back? But perhaps that was a moot point in itself- if there was a heaven and hell, he doubted he met the same standards his brother did.

In that case he would, he was sure, see his father.

He closed his eyes again, forced himself to breathe slowly. The pain was slowly beginning to ebb, and he felt drowsy. He knew of course that this was a bad sign, that he ought to stay awake, but his heart, pounding sluggishly away in his chest, no longer seemed worth the effort to keep beating. Maybe he ought to rest. Just give up for once, knowing he wouldn't, couldn't be saved. Strange, how easy it was to die, after everything he'd done, everything he'd worked for-

"Dr. Whale?"

He opened his eyes at the sound of Regina's voice, wondering how much more the universe planned on laughing at him.

…

The storm they had heard approaching earlier had at last reached his father's home and was coming down so hard a tree branch cracked and fell on the edges of Victor's vision. He ran to the carriage, stumbling down the wet steps. The driver was climbing down off his seat, he assumed to open the door for him. But the man stepped in his way. "Sir!" he said, and then shouted something else that was drowned up by a deafening thunderclap and the roar of the pouring rain like an avalanche. Victor frowned and shook his head, raising a hand to cup his ear. The man pulled his coat higher, shivering, and said something else Victor didn't catch, gesturing back towards the house. Victor turned, to see that the door had been opened, and someone, the butler maybe, was waving him over. "Oh, for god's sake," he muttered, jogging back. "What is it?" he shouted in the man's face, straining to be heard.

The man pointed up. "It's your brother, sir! Your father just went to speak with him, and ordered us to fetch you before you left."

He looked fairly worried himself. What _was_ his name? Victor really ought to know, the man had worked for them for years, as a favor to his mother, if he remembered correctly. At least, he hadn't been his father's biggest fan; another reason why they really ought to be better acquainted… Victor stepped in and the door swung shut behind him. "Why? Is Gerhardt all right?"

"No idea, sir. But it sounded urgent. Your father told us to go after you if you already left."

Ah, there it was. "Thank you, Fritz." The man bowed and walked off.

Victor hung up his hat and listened, but heard nothing. That wasn't odd, it was a large building with thick walls, but for some reason the silence made him shudder instinctively. And then, he didn't know why, he began to run, panic rising in his throat. He sprinted down the hall and up the stairs, nearly colliding with another of the servants in his haste. The rain was getting worse if that were possible, the thunder booming deafeningly in his ears ever other step he took. He turned a corner and nearly slipped in the mud and water he was trailing, but paid no attention, his eyes fixed on Gerhardt's door, which hung slightly ajar.

The room was darkly lit when he came in, and he blinked rapidly, trying to make his eyes adjust. The wind was howling even louder in here, and he soon saw why. The window near Gerhardt's bed had been smashed, leaving a huge jagged hole like a mouth. The floor and curtains were soaked with rain. "Gerhardt?" He heard a choked groan, and stepped past the window to the other side of the room. His father was behind the desk, kneeling over something with his hands over his face. "Father? Are you all right?" At the sound of his voice a tremor ran through the man and he dropped his head, doubling over like he was in pain. "Father, what in god's name-" He took another step forward, two, then stopped.

Gerhardt was lying on the floor, spread eagled and limp, his head tilted towards Victor and his mouth hanging agape. The front of his uniform and his hands were both stained scarlet, long tendrils of red trailing from the slit cut deep into his throat, all over his neck and jaw. Victor felt the urge to vomit and suppressed it, no, no, he needed to see this, understand what happened, god knows he'd seen worse, he stepped closer, stepped in the blood, close enough to see the red inside of his brother's throat, the strange, faint curve to his mouth like a smile- he gagged, unable to stop himself, and turned away. "H-how did this happen?" he whispered.

"There was an attacker," his father answered, voice heavy with unshed tears. "He must have smashed the window and entered… killed Gerhardt, taken his valuables…" Victor looked towards the desk, which had been cleared but for the empty case that had held his mother's watch. Gerhardt's medal, the silver cross, was gone too, he saw. "I heard him cry out… when I was downstairs, but couldn't reach in time…" He made another of those sounds, not quite a sob. "He used… Gerhardt's hunting knife… it was on the ground over there… he must not have been expecting him to walk in…"

Victor felt the urge to scream. Was everything going to be taken from him? His mother, his work, Gerhardt, what was next? Lightning flashed through the window, illuminating the pointed edges of glass like spears, silver cracks running towards the windowpane like veins-

The window-

There was no glass on the floor surrounding the window. Why did that feel wrong?

"Father," Victor said in a soft, shaky voice that didn't sound like his own, "where did Gerhardt keep his hunting knife?" His father didn't even look at him, and Victor swallowed, trying to speak clearer. "Didn't… he keep it in a glass case in another room? Wasn't it locked?"

"What are you talking about?" His father said. He turned, and Victor flinched at the tears on his face, the hollow look in his eyes. He forced himself to go on.

"I'm just saying… if the knife wasn't here, then how did the intruder get it? If he came through the window, and then…" The window. He stopped, and with sick, biting clarity, finally understood. He stared at his brother's blank face, the peacefulness written into that tiny smile, the trust in his flat, glassy eyes.

"He did it," he said at length.

His father knew instantly what he meant, he could see it in the growing horror in his face, in the way he grabbed at Gerhardt's limp arm. "What- what-"

"He did this to himself. Smashed the window… must have thrown his money and the watch away so it would look like a robbery," glass, there would have had to be glass on the floor if it was broken from the outside, he should have realized sooner, "took the knife- it was locked, he was the only one with the key, so he took it, set everything up, and then he…" He trailed off.

"Why?" The thunder boomed over his father's next words, "-could he possibly, oh my son, oh my poor boy," he clenched his fists together over Gerhardt's chest, dropped his own forehead onto them, sobbing pathetically. Victor turned away, staring uncomprehendingly at the knife lying in the floor, the handle and blade equally smeared with blood. Gerhardt must have tossed it away, once he was finished. Stupid. A real murderer wouldn't have left the weapon behind. Leaning over, he gingerly picked it up. The blade shone in the dim light, flashed when he titled it like a lightning bolt, blinding him for an instant.

"I don't understand. Why would he do this? Did he want to spare us the pain?" His voice was no longer pained but angry and accusing.

"You."

His father stiffed. "Excuse me?"

"Not me. You."

He lifted his head, turning to glare at Victor with open contempt. "_What_?"

"He meant to spare _you_. Not me," Victor said dully. "He did it for me."

"What are you talking about, you simpleton?" His father bellowed at him. He winced and closed his hand too tightly around the blade, so that his palm bled.

"This. Killing himself. He did it for me. My work… I believed… I believe that I can possibly revive a dead body. If it's in the right condition. I was going to try to prove… he kept saying he wanted to help me. I didn't understand…"

His father pulled himself to his feet, and Victor tried to move away but his father gripped him roughly by the collar and pulled him forward so that they were nose to nose. "For _you_?!" he shouted. "My son is dead because of you? Because of your hopeless, idiotic experiments?!"

Victor was smiling, he realized distantly, at his brother's bravery, and the opportunity he had willing thrown at Victor's feet. He had known exactly what he was doing, hadn't he? "We have to do it."

"What?"

"Gerhardt killed himself because he had faith that I could bring him back. We must go through with it, or it was for nothing."

His father's face contorted with grief and agony. "If you think I'm letting you get near him with your mad experiments-"

"I am not mad!"

"Leave this house." His father's chest was heaving. "I want you to leave this house immediately. My son is dead, and I want his murderer gone."

Victor's mouth fell open. "You are denying me the chance to save Gerhardt's life?"

His father would not look at him. "You are going to go now. I am going to contact the police, and I will tell them what's happened. You will be arrested, and if there is any, _any_ justice in this world, you will be hanged. Gerhardt will have a proper burial."

"You're going to stick him into the ground to rot with mother!"

"You will be silent!"

"_You cannot order me!"_

"Enough!" His father shoved past him, almost knocking the knife out of his hands. "You don't want to leave, fine. Wait here for your death. It makes no difference."

He stared at him. "Is there nothing I can do to convince you?"

No answer. Gerhardt's slashed neck gaped at him, long and ugly. It must have been agonizing to do- Gerhardt was stronger than even he had believed. Victor was not afraid of being arrested. He had not forced Gerhardt to do this, and who would believe his father, shocked and grief-stricken as he was? But he was still in danger of losing Gerhardt. He did not have the power to stop his father from burying Gerhardt if that was what he wished, or to cast _him_ out. He had the power, and Victor had nothing, not even as the eldest son. Could he allow this? Could he accept his brother's death, accept his commission; give up all his dreams and the only person who had given him unwavering support?

He turned the knife over and over in his hands. Impossible. He could not lose his brother to an old man's selfishness. But then what was he to do?

His father was leaning against the doorframe, unable or unwilling to call for a servant for help. Perhaps it was shock. In the darkness, he suddenly looked very, very small. Frail even. For the first time in his life, Victor felt sorry for him.

Her walked over, raised a hand to curl around the other man's surprisingly thin shoulder. He shook slightly under Victor's touch. "Father?"

The man took a deep breath, seemed to deflate, and turned. His eyes were rimmed red, and he opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a weak, gurgling noise as Victor stabbed the knife into his throat.

He clapped a hand over his father's mouth, withdrew the knife, thrust it into his stomach, into his chest, into his gut again. Blood gushed up the blade and onto his fingers, and his father tried to pull away from his hand, more blood from Victor's cut hand smearing on his jaw. For a few tense seconds he struggled but at last his legs gave out, eyes darkening. His head dropped forward as Victor carefully lowered him to the floor. He stood, took a moment to compose himself and wiped the knife's handle off on his coat before tossing it back to the floor. Then he walked down the stairs to inform Fritz, calmly, that his father and brother had been murdered.

…..

If the walk to Mr. Gold's shop, every step lopsided and with a bloody drink cooler clutched under his remaining arm, was uncomfortable, the walk back was a thousand times worse. While before people had pointedly not looked at him on the way down, out of pity or their own discomfort, they stared openly now at his miraculously reattached arm, same as it ever had been. Keeping with tradition, no one asked the questions they were all thinking. He wondered how they would react if they did know the truth- that he had bought back his limb with a few words. After walking for a few blocks and wishing he had thought to drive, he ended up ducking into Granny's just to avoid the stares and taking the booth in the back, praying to be left alone. No such luck; he'd barely been sitting there a minute when Ruby sat in the seat across from him.

"Aren't you supposed to be working?" he said through clenched teeth.

"I'm taking my break." Her gaze dropped meaningfully to his right arm. "I see you're all patched up."

He stared at the door so he didn't have to look at her. "Funny thing. Turns out it was just a flesh wound."

"Did they do that at the hospital, or was it Gold?"

"What do you care?"

She leaned forward, waiting until he looked at her. He was surprised to see genuine sympathy in her stormy grey eyes- which he definitely should not be noticing. "Oh, I don't. But I'd like to, if you'll stop being such a prick and let me help you."

"Again, why the do you even care? You don't even like me."

She smirked. "Yeah, that's true. But when we talked a few days ago, for the first time since we've met, you weren't a _complete_ narcissistic creep."

"Gee, thanks."

"I don't need any more enemies, and I don't think you do either. I know you aren't exactly Regina's biggest fan, and she could be trouble now that she's got her powers back. We could use your help."

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm not interested in making friends. People aren't interested in being friends with me, for that matter."

She studied him for a long moment. "That's because they're scared of you. If you would just tell us who you are-"

He couldn't help himself, he laughed. "That wouldn't help. Even if you believed me, it wouldn't improve my image, I promise you."

"Listen, I know what it's like to be an outcast. More than you can possibly imagine. And I promise you, it helps. Having others on your side… it helps."

He continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Besides, it makes no difference what I do or don't say. I don't plan on staying."

"What are you talking about?"

He looked at her steadily. "I'm going to get home. One way or another, I'm going to get home to the people I care about. I don't belong here, you know it and I know it. I think I'm better off keeping to myself." He started to rise from his seat. "But thanks for the offer."

"Excuse me." They both looked up, and Victor swore under his breath. David had been standing there, he didn't know how long, hands on his hips and Emma's badge pinned to his chest. "Ruby, do you mind if I take your seat?"

Victor tried to back out. "That's okay, I was just leaving-"

"No, you weren't. Sit down." David said sharply.

Victor stiffened. "I don't take orders from you, _your highness_. You're not even sheriff."

"I am until Emma gets back, and I'm telling you to take a seat."

"No thanks. I'm not in the mood for a chat."

Ruby stepped between them, eyebrows raised. "David, I can handle this."

"You're wasting your time, Ruby." David eyed him suspiciously. "Regina told me what you did. I don't know how or why you brought him back, but I know that you're dangerous. You try that with anyone else, _on_ anyone else…"

Victor's hands clenched into fists. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm warning you. We all want to get home, but right now we need to focus on holding Storybrooke together. I don't have time to worry about you, or about your brother-"

Victor smiled faintly, then jumped forward and slammed his fist into David's cheek. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he just wanted to return the favor from earlier. Maybe he was in a bad mood from just how horribly he'd failed. Maybe it was because he wasn't sure how much Regina had told him, but it was too much. He expected David to go down, but he just stumbled back a few steps in surprise. Leroy let out a shout and jumped to his feet along with a few of the other dwarves, and Granny ran out from behind the bar. David's face had gone slack with shock, but then he stepped forward, raising his hand, looking furious. Ruby grasped his wrist, holding him back. He tried to twist away. "Ruby-"

"Will you two stop it?! This is ridiculous! You've made your point, okay?"

Not waiting for David to shake her off, Victor turned on his heel and strode out, ignoring the glares he felt being thrown at his back.

"Just leave it, David. Let him go. Come on, we've got bigger things to worry about." Ruby's voice carried through the diner. "He's not worth it."

"What the hell is that man's problem?" someone else said, Granny maybe, but Victor didn't look back, slamming the door behind him with a jangle of the bell. He considered going home, but began walking back to the hospital again. He had nowhere else to go.

…

After his father's death, Victor was left head of the family, not that there was anyone else to lord that over. He now held the rights to the estate, and more importantly, the rest of his father's funds. The deaths of his family were written off as tragic accidents, and both his father and brother were buried, though only his father's coffin actually held a body.

The only one who could have contradicted the official story, that his father and brother had already been dead when he entered the room, was Fritz, who willingly kept his mouth shut. In the days following his father's death, Victor had considered killing him as well, but finally the man had confronted him in private, and told him that he had, and always would have, his loyalty as his mother's son. Victor was surprised, but grateful for the unsought support, and soon informed Fritz of what he intended to do with Gerhardt, taking him on as an assistant. The man never asked too many questions, did what he was told without being asked, and showed the appropriate level of awe over what Victor was going to accomplish. He stood by him during repeated, agonizing failures, during the time when Gerhardt's body was becoming damaged over time and certain parts needed to be replaced and sown together, and had waited patiently for him to return from Rumplestiltskin's vibrant, terrible land. He didn't have a great deal of respect for the man; he wasn't the brightest, but his loyalty was indeed something to be admired. Even if Victor sometimes felt that he had done nothing to earn it.

He did not think of his father often anymore. He could honestly say he felt no guilt over the event- his father had constantly jilted him and his goals throughout his life, would have sent him to join the military without batting an eye, and would have let Gerhardt remain dead for his hatred of Victor. It was he who would have been Gerhardt's murderer, had he succeeded. So in his daylight hours, Victor did not spare him a thought. He wasn't worth it. However, for weeks afterward he had had nightmares about the event, most of which involved him being stabbed instead, by his father, by Gerhardt, and once, confusingly, by Elizabeth Lavenza, Gerhardt's friend who he did sometimes see in the village. She was very beautiful and sometimes held his gaze for a moment too long, but they never spoke. He noticed that for a month after Gerhardt's death she wore black mourning clothes. He did not know how close their friendship had been, and while he was curious, he never approached her either.

Several months passed before he succeeded, as he'd hoped, with the heart Rumplestiltskin had paid him with. It was worth the wait. He would have waited eight times for this, to feel his brother's hand move in his, his eyes opening to be as blue and alive as ever, to know that his brother's faith in him had not, after all, been a mistake, a thought which had tormented him more than he liked to admit.

His brother was not has handsome as he had once been. Stitches held the skin on his body together as it had begun to rot and, in some places, had needed to be replaced, so that the result resembled a patchwork quilt. His face, thankfully, was mostly the same, and he seemed otherwise able to function. His memory was another matter.

On the day they had finally revived him, Victor had removed the sheet and raised the limp form into a seated position. His brother's expression had been curiously open and confused, like a newborn child, and his eyes would not focus. Somehow, Victor had managed to get him to look at him.

"Do you know who I am?" He whispered.

His brother had blinked slowly, bit his lip, and said, very faintly, not sure if he had the right answer, "Victor… Victor." He smiled and allowed Victor to embrace him, relief rendering him unable to speak.

While this was enough proof that his brother was, at the very least, not entirely gone, very little else of his memory remained. He had to be told his own name, did not recognize Fritz, and remembered very little else of his past life. He had to be taught to walk and move normally, though he was able to speak as well as ever. For the most part, he was kept in his room. Victor was afraid to show anyone, for how they would respond and how his brother would take it. Gerhardt seemed sad most of the time, sometimes refused to speak or even eat. He seemed to cheer up slightly when Victor was there, but not enough to make a difference.

Once, Victor entered the room to find his brother sprawled on the floor, clutching his head. He dropped the tray he was holding and ran over, frantically asking what was wrong and searching for a wound. Gerhardt had shoved him away and spoken in awkward, stilted words, "I should not be here…"

"What do you mean?"

"I was… dead… wasn't I?" He rubbed his head again. "I do not… belong here anymore… I can feel it, I can feel…"

He had taken his brother's hands again, fighting panic. "Don't be silly. No one should be dead, Gerhardt, you least of all. You belong here, with your fellow man. Never to leave. Everlasting. You believed in that, once. You believed in me. Don't you, still?"

His brother had not answered. Worried, Victor had left him and ordered Fritz to keep guard. His brother was progressing, but very slowly, and the comparisons to a child were becoming more obvious every day. He was unable to control his emotions and had once broken Fritz's wrist in a fit of anger. Fritz took it well, but Victor hadn't been able to get Gerhardt to tell him why he'd done it. He's slipping away, he thought to himself in his more melancholy moments. He's slipping away, more and more, and I don't know how I can keep him here with me.

Victor sat out on the balcony with a book he had no intention of reading, searching for the peaks of the mountains, unable to make them out completely in the night and in the growing violet storm clouds growing on the edge of the horizon. Perhaps, he told himself, he was being too optimistic. He had expected his brother to be the same as ever, but it was only natural that it be difficult for him to adjust to his new existence. On the other hand, perhaps he ought to start over, try again. Experiments were rarely perfect the first time; there was always room for improvement… but then, what was he saying? His brother had made an incredible sacrifice for him the first time, he would not let him suffer and die again.

"Dr. Frankenstein?" He turned. Fritz was standing on the balcony, still in his scrubs. There was a large, apple-sized bruise forming over his temple.

" Yes?" He realized the man was gasping for breath. "Whatever's the matter? …Did you run here?"

"It's your brother, sir."

Hearing those words for the second time in his life, Victor jumped up, dropping the book on the ground carelessly. "What happened? Is his heart all right?"

He shook his head, his chest heaving. "I don't know, sir. He broke out of his room, and seemed very agitated. I tried to calm him down, but he attacked me. When I came to, he was gone."

"Gone where?"

"I don't know."

Victor stared out into the moon-light forest, listening to the window rustling through the trees. "Why would he want to leave? I'm all he knows. There's no one else left," he said, more to himself than to Fritz.

"I don't know, sir."

He turned on him, suddenly furious. "Do you know _anything_?"

"I'm sorry sir, I-"

"I'm not interested in your excuses! My brother is still getting used to his new body, he's in danger out there!" He brushed the dust and gravel from his clothes and strode past Fritz, picking up his coat from the wall. "Find him. Go down to the village and search- I'll follow the mountain paths. He can't have gone far, since he has nowhere to go. We just need to find him before someone else does."

"Yes, sir." He left, rubbing his injury. Victor couldn't muster any pity for him.

Out in the distance, the smoky, purple clouds drifted ever closer, consuming the countryside. They had appeared about a week ago, ominous and incredibly large so that they almost blacked out an entire corner of the sky. Strangely, Victor was the only one who seemed to notice. He knew it had to be some sort of natural anomaly, something he didn't have the time to study in depth that would soon pass. Still, he couldn't help but feel it was somehow meant for him, the wrath of god come to steal him away. There was something wrong about it, a different taste in the air as he looked at it, a strange, familiar humming in his body.

It wasn't worth his attention not now. He dressed quickly and set out into the wilderness, searching as much as he could without a light. He would not, could not lose his brother again. Not after all he had given; all his brother had given for him. He heard noises in the distance, animals howling and hunting. Once or twice he imagined he heard another man's footsteps and stopped, waiting. But if it was Gerhardt, he did not emerge.

At last, he caught sight of him, his white clothing slipping between the trees. "Gerhardt!" he called, jogging over. His brother turned to face him, and he stopped mid-step. His eyes, usually so animated, were as flat and glassy as they had been in death. "Gerhardt, are you all right? I've been worried."

His brother closed his eyes, clenching his jaw as if to fight back pain. The stitches criss-crossing his face writhed with every facial movement. In the darkness with his patchwork skin and mouth hanging open, he bore little resemblance to anything human. When he opened his eyes again, they had returned to normal, and some of the tension dissipated. "Victor," he said clearly.

"That's right." He frowned, moving to stand by Gerhardt's side. "What's wrong, Gerhardt?"

"Such pain…" his voice was low and strangled. "I'm having trouble… controlling…" He gave Victor a sorrowful look. "Why have you done this to me?"

"What are you talking about? I saved you. Like you wanted." He reached out towards him but Gerhardt flinched away, shaking his head.

"I did not… I could not have…" he suddenly let out a tortured moan, doubling over. Victor grasped him by the arms, but his brother twisted out of his grip, unnaturally strong. "Do not come near me, you- you- you wretch! You monster!" Gerhardt backed away, the recognition in his eyes fading. He spoke again, but the words came out garbled. With a sharp cry, he turned and sprinted away, faster than Victor could possibly hope to match.

He tried anyway, chasing his brother into the mountains, and calling his name, into darkness as black and crushing as death.

From there, it seemed, things could only ever get worse.


End file.
